It had been exactly one year since she'd awakened in the healing house, her body covered in bandages, a particularly thick one wrapped around her head. The healers had been astonished by her recovery—wounds that should have taken months to heal had mended in weeks, though the price had been steep. Three years of her life, gone. Not her entire past—she remembered her childhood, her early training as a hunter, the first monsters she'd slain. But the recent three years had vanished as if they'd never happened, leaving a gaping hole where her most recent memories should have been.
"You're fortunate to be alive at all," the head healer had told her, his ancient face solemn as he changed her bandages. "If it weren't for Lucas bringing you back from that mission… well, I doubt you'd be here today."
Lucas. Even before the memory loss, Emberlyn knew exactly who Lucas was—and she couldn't stand him. He was arrogant, self-absorbed, and always boasting about his accomplishments. Worse still, he had made no secret of his interest in her over the years, repeatedly trying to win her favor despite her clear disinterest. She found his personality grating, his presence annoying, and his advances unwelcome. Yet now, after waking up without those three years of memory, Lucas acted as though they were close—very close.
Sometimes, Emberlyn would ask outright: "How close were we?"
Lucas's response was always vague, tinged with sadness. Once, he sighed deeply and said, "We were closer than friends." His voice carried an ache that made her hesitate, unsure how to respond. How could she return feelings she didn't remember having? Her memories of Lucas were filled with irritation and disdain; there was nothing in them to suggest any kind of closeness. When did they become close? And why?
"Don't worry," Lucas would say with a forced smile, though his eyes betrayed lingering sorrow. "Take your time."
Emberlyn couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Lucas seemed different now—quieter, more subdued. Perhaps this change in his personality was what had drawn her to him during those missing years. Or maybe... maybe she hadn't been herself either. The thought unsettled her. Who was she during those lost years? What choices had she made? Had she truly grown fond of someone she once despised? These questions gnawed at her relentlessly, weaving through every moment of doubt and confusion.
But she couldn't ask anyone about it, as Lucas had warned her to keep her memory loss completely secret, explaining that if word spread about her condition, enemies could exploit her weakness and strangers could approach her claiming false connections from her forgotten years, using her vulnerability against her while rumors twisted and spread to destroy her fearsome reputation.
And then there was Ethan—a man who claimed to be her husband but whose presence in her life remained shrouded in mystery. The memory was still fresh in Emberlyn's mind—the moment a man approached her with full confidence, declaring that he was her husband. That man, Ethan, looked weak and helpless, but in his eyes was a glimmer of undeniable hope.
*I'M YOUR HUSBAND!*
His words still echoed in Emberlyn's mind, reverberating through her thoughts during quiet moments, disturbing her usually perfect concentration.
Every time she thought of him, standing before her with that unwavering glimmer of hope in his eyes, her chest tightened. Where was he now? Was he still alive, wandering somewhere beyond the treacherous forests teeming with monsters? Or had he fallen victim to the dangers lurking within? Despite logic telling her otherwise, Emberlyn couldn't bring herself to believe he was gone. Deep inside, an inexplicable certainty defied reason, anchoring itself firmly in her heart. It was a feeling so strong it sometimes woke her in the middle of the night, her hands instinctively reaching out for someone—or something—that wasn't there.
"Not again," she would whisper into the darkness, fingers clutching at empty air, the phantom sensation of another hand in hers lingering like a ghost.
The confusion between Lucas and Ethan tormented her daily. Two men, both claiming significant places in her forgotten years—one who saved her life and spoke of deep connection, the other who declared himself her husband with unwavering conviction. Her mind constantly compared them: Lucas, the accomplished hunter whose skills matched her own, whose presence in her life was undeniable even if their closeness remained questionable; and Ethan, physically weaker yet whose mere memory stirred something profound within her that transcended rational explanation.
"Which one of you filled those three years?" she often wondered aloud in the solitude of her home. "Whose truth am I living with now?"
Emberlyn knew she had lost those three years of memory, but believing a man like Ethan was her husband was hard to grasp. How could someone like her—a fierce and renowned hunter whose name struck fear in the hearts of monsters and admiration among those who hired her—be married to someone who appeared so weak and helpless? That question haunted her thoughts, keeping her awake at night. She would stare at her reflection in the polished metal of her blade, searching her own eyes for answers that wouldn't come.
"Who were you to me during those lost years?" she would ask the silent night, her voice small and lost in the vast emptiness of her home. No answer ever came, just the hollow *tick-tock* of the clock counting away seconds that felt endless.
What puzzled her even more was her own behavior. Every morning, with the sun barely cresting the horizon, her feet seemed to move on their own toward the kitchen. It was as if something was drawing her there, even though she knew she didn't know how to cook—or at least, she hadn't before those missing three years. Her hands would hover over pots and pans with strange familiarity before she caught herself and retreated from the room in confusion.
CLANG! CLATTER!
The sounds of utensils dropping from her trembling hands would break the morning silence, startling her into awareness of what she'd been doing without conscious thought.
Stranger still, she often bought cooking ingredients for no clear reason. Emberlyn would come home from the market with bags full of vegetables, meat, and spices, but had no idea what to do with them. The merchants had begun to recognize her, greeting her with curious smiles as she examined produce with an expert eye she didn't know she possessed.
"The usual today, Hunter Emberlyn?" the fruit vendor would ask with a knowing smile, already reaching for the ripest apples—the ones with just the right balance of tartness and sweetness that she somehow preferred without knowing why.
"I... yes, I suppose so," she would reply, confused by her own certainty as she selected herbs and spices whose names felt right on her tongue though she couldn't recall ever learning them. Had she become a cook during those three lost years? The thought seemed ridiculous—she was a hunter, not a kitchen maid.
Whenever she looked at the ingredients arranged on her kitchen counter, a sense of emptiness would engulf her heart, as if she were waiting for someone to cook for her—someone whose absence was a physical ache she couldn't explain.
One evening, as Emberlyn unpacked yet another basket of fresh ingredients—enough for two people as always—she paused, staring at the bounty before her with a hollow feeling spreading through her chest.
"Who am I waiting for?" she whispered to the empty kitchen, her voice cracking slightly. The silence that answered seemed to press against her like a physical weight, reminding her of how utterly alone she was.
The loneliness had become a constant companion, more faithful than any human could be. It wrapped around her like a second skin, present in every breath, every action. Sometimes, when the feeling grew too intense, she would find herself humming a tune she didn't recognize, her hands moving through the motions of chopping vegetables or stirring an imaginary pot. Her body remembered what her mind had forgotten, and that disconnect left her stranded between two realities—neither fully present nor completely lost.
Meanwhile, life as a hunter carried on. Each mission brought new challenges, and Emberlyn faced them with remarkable agility and strength. For as long as she could remember—excluding those three missing years—she had hunted alone, a solitary figure respected and feared in equal measure. But something had changed in the past year. A creeping awareness that her solitude was a choice, not a necessity. Perhaps it had been Ethan's appearance that triggered this realization, or perhaps it was the growing sense that she had once been part of something larger than herself.
After much internal debate, she had finally decided to form a hunting party—the first team she'd ever worked with. It hadn't been easy to find people she trusted enough to fight alongside her, but over the past few months, she had assembled a small group: Elise, a sharp-eyed archer with a quiet demeanor; Marcus, a burly axe-wielder with a hearty laugh that seemed to warm even the coldest nights; and Dren, a clever tactician whose knowledge of poisons and antidotes had saved them more than once.
When Lucas learned of her new team, she had expected anger or jealousy. Instead, he had surprised her with gentle understanding.
"I think it's good for you," he'd said quietly when they crossed paths at the guild hall. "New connections might help you find your way back to yourself." His eyes held no judgment, only a wistful acceptance that made something twist painfully in her chest.
"You're not upset that I didn't ask you to join us?" she'd asked, confused by his calm reaction.
Lucas had smiled then—a genuine smile that reminded her of whoever he had become during those three lost years. "You need space to figure things out, Emberlyn. I understand that." He'd hesitated then, his hand almost reaching for hers before falling back to his side. "Just know that when you're ready to talk about those years, I'll be here."
His understanding had left her oddly guilty, wondering if she'd misjudged him. The Lucas she remembered from before would never have been so considerate. Had he truly changed so much? Or had her perception of him been the thing that changed during those missing years? Looking at him now—his eyes carrying a depth of emotion she couldn't fully comprehend—she found herself wondering if he might be telling the truth about their closeness.
During their first mission, they were tasked with hunting a pack of Bloodmaw Ravagers terrorizing a remote village. These hulking beasts—half-bear, half-insect in appearance—had left a trail of destruction, their serrated mandibles capable of tearing through wooden structures as easily as flesh.
The village elder had grabbed her hands as they prepared to leave, his eyes wet with desperate hope. "You're our only chance, S-rank Hunter. No one else would even take this mission. These Bloodmaws have already devoured entire families."
"We'll take care of it," Emberlyn responded, uncomfortable with the weight of his expectations.
They tracked the creatures deep into the forest. The dark, eerie trees blocked out the midday sun, creating perpetual twilight as mist curled around their ankles.
SQUELCH!
The soft sound of their boots in the muddy earth seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.
Suddenly—